


the sacrifice in the shadows.

by eddiecharlesstewart



Category: The Eagle (2011) RPF, The Eagle of the Ninth - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: Alternate Universe, Druids, M/M, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:54:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1308931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eddiecharlesstewart/pseuds/eddiecharlesstewart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus is injured he is found by Esca the druid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sacrifice in the shadows.

The sacrifice in the shadows.  
Marcus Flavius Aquila led his cohort of Gauls through the deep forests of the south on patrol from the legionary fortress at Isca Dumnoniorum. On their flanks rode the squadrons of Dacian cavalry led by their Decurions. The Gauls marched in step, weighed down by their chainmail and marching yolks. The Gauls were a tall race, almost a head taller than Marcus, who was tall for a Roman. Marcus wore his battle dress of a senior centurion. His harness was loaded with medallions and phalerae. A gold and silver entwined torc hung around his neck. It was taken from a warrior Marcus faced in single combat. Marcus crimson traverse crest of his helm and his thick woollen cloak fluttered in the wind whipping down the glade as he marched at the head of his men beside the cohort standard. Marcus cast a proud glance back at the men marching behind him, He was happy to see them marching in a manner fit for the parade grounds of the Pretorian Guards. Marcus was just about to holler the order to rest when a Celtic war horn sounded, braying out long haunting notes as the shadows of the forest undergrowth began hauntingly to move. Britons in their terrifying war paints flung themselves from the once serine forests to charge upon the shocked roman auxiliaries. Marcus shouts an order his voice hoarse with shock, the men from a square around the standard. They begin slowly to tramp along the forest road. Up ahead the Dacians hold of a horde of Britons. Marcus thrust the cohort’s standard into the cavalry Decurion’s hand and ordered him to ride with it to Isca Dumnoniorum. The cavalry officer hesitated, his face a mask of shame and regret then with a final salute he and his men rode to safety, tearing through the trees. “Tell them of our stand” Marcus cried after him. Now Marcus could look to their defence without fear of dishonour. Marcus had his men stand firm in their square. Shields pointed outwards, men stood back to back. They were surrounded, outnumbered and doomed. Marcus resolved to take as many of the devils as he could with him. However many he killed, always more appeared, tearing away at the shrinking formation like fiends from Tartarus. The forest floor now was littered with bodies, crimson romans and pale, naked Celts, lying strewn in heaps across the glade. Marcus watched in horror as one by one his men fell. Suddenly a blinding pain shot from the back of his head and the world was black.  
Marcus awoke hours later, the sun was descending below the limited horizons of the forest, and he lay among a heap of bodies. His face and leg were blood soaked. His head felt intact but his leg was bleeding heavily from a mighty gash. Marcus looked around at the growing shadows, he had no wish to remain here and die by Celtic blade or carrion. Grasping a thrown spear as a crutch he heaved himself up and limped into the trees. The effort alone and the pain from his leg left him weary after a matter of steps, he slumped against every tree he passed the blood flowed freely from his wound. He almost fell from tree stump to tree stump as he stumbled through the woods. Before him suddenly emerged a ring of standing stones towering above him. Marcus knew the significance of these stones as the place of druids, but he was too far gone in agony and fatigue to care. He finally slumped down against one stone as waves of pain and blackness overtook him. He fell into a deep feverish sleep.  
…  
Esca, Druid of the Brigantes of The glen, High priest of the water spirits. Son of Cunoval, bearer of the blue war shield sat in the shade of a tree that loomed over his temple, the ring of stones. He watched in surprise, hatred, anger and pity as the wounded soldier hobbled unsteadily into the sacred sight, he felt outrage as he collapsed and fell into an agony induced sleep, Esca resolved to punish him for the intrusion. He slipped from the tree and stood before the wounded man. He heard him murmur and twist, in his feverish sleep. Esca watched the pleasant openness of his face, the handsome features, his impressive broad muscular body and the eagle amulet hung around the man’s neck. Esca took care not to wake him as he stripped his enemy of his scale armour and harness and helm, leaving the man in only his tunic, he removed his gladii and pugio as well. Then he stood back to admire the man’s handsomeness once more. He was tall. Taller than Esca by a head and shoulders. He was stronger too, heavily muscled, easily able to beat Esca if not for the wicked debilitating wound on his leg. Esca fetched some linen and proceeded to bind the wound. Esca resolved the man would not die until Esca chose for him to. Then Esca left to his tree to contemplate his possibly foolish actions as the roman stirred.  
…   
Marcus awoke from a disturbed sleep to find himself in the circle of foreboding stones. His leg was bound, how odd. He tried to stand but found himself incapable without a stabbing rush of searing pain. He lay in abject self-pity, damning the gods to all and sunder for not allowing him to die in battle with dignity. He cursed aloud and was on the verge of screaming to the gods to end his torment when a voice in the trees spoke up. “You’re awake then sleepy roman?” it said in a tone of amusement and almost unaccented lilting Latin.  
“Yes, I am, was it you who wound my wound? Tree spirit.” Marcus replied.  
“Yes it was and by the way I am no tree spirit, I am the druid of water spirits, I’m Esca, what’s your name?” the voice said with a light chuckle.  
Marcus then noticed a slight movement in one tree, a small foot belonging to a man who must have been almost a head and shoulders shorter than him.  
“I am Marcus Flavius Aquila, Centurion and cohort commander of the First cohort of Gallic auxiliaries of the roman army.” Marcus cried out in pride. He realised the Britain may not like romans and that dampened his pride in the title.  
“So you are a soldier, that I knew, did you run from the ambush then? Are you a coward? Roman” Esca cried out, his voice tinged with disgust.  
“Of course not, I would not run, I am no coward, I fought to the last, If only someone hadn’t knocked out I would be lying with my comrades, honourably dead” Marcus cried in outrage.  
Esca found himself respecting this roman more, he seemed so different to the cowardly officers he had had the displeasure of meeting before. Esca could respect a man who wished he’d fell in battle.  
Esca jumped from the tree, landing lithely before Marcus. “If you give your word to stay in the circle and not to attack me I will care for your wound, at least until you recover.”  
Esca was unsure why he offered, any roman he had met before would likely spit on him for such an offer. Marcus simply looked into his eyes trying to judge the truthfulness of Esca’s words. “If my word is all you wish for you shall have it a thousand times over, and my gratitude for your kindness. How can I repay you however, I am not rich, nor influential, accursed my people say” Marcus said quietly a hint of sadness in his words.  
Esca gave him a curious look.  
“My father was Primius pilus of the ninth legion he lost an eagle.” Marcus said sadly.  
“The ninth went down in battle with honour, I saw it march by many years past, and I’ve heard the stories of the great blood let.” Esca said in almost a confused tone.  
“That’s not how my people see it, for them it’s eagle lost honour lost, honour lost all lost.” Marcus said in a quiet voice.  
“Well I don’t understand them, and I don’t care, you seem a good man, an honourable man to me, your medals tell a story like that.”  
“My medals, where are they?” Marcus cried in a moment of blind panic.   
“Don’t worry, Marcus, I’ve put them with your armour in a safe place, you can have them when your well again. Now I must leave.” With that Esca walked quickly from the clearing.  
Marcus marvelled at the young druid. He was small, even for a Briton, he was handsome in an odd way, small, thin with wiry sinews muscles and a daring angular face that was kindly and youthful. Marcus felt something flutter in his chest as he watched the tattooed druid walk away through the dappled light of the woods.  
…  
Soon Marcus was dying of thirst, the wound prevented him from going far but he could hear water nearby. He crawled towards the source of the noise until he saw it, a small hole in the rock with a pool worn into it was the source of a narrow meandering stream, it was all so close, heaven for Marcus cracked throat, yet just outside the circle. Marcus turned and crawled back to the circles centre, unwilling to break his oath. Unbeknown to Marcus, Esca was watching his every move, Esca was surprised when the man refused to leave the circle, and he had not thought to give him food and water. Realising his cruelty he slipped from his hiding spot and walked lightly to Marcus heaving side. He slipped Marcus arm around his shoulder and led him towards the source of the burn. Marcus dragged his heels. “Is this some test?” he cried. Trying but failing to escape Esca’s grasp. Esca muttered at his nuisance, throwing him a berating look the reassuring him that it was no test, the waters were supposed to be healing. Esca stopped by the water’s edge and stripped Marcus of his tunic, unveiling his muscular body and impressive manhood. Esca then stripped himself also, showing of his flawless pale skin smooth as silt and his ample manhood. Esca then gently pulled Marcus into the pool in the rock, filling a cup of water from the small trickle that fed the pool and making a weak Marcus drink it. Marcus sighed contentedly when he finished then proceeded to lean against Esca as tiredness overtook him. Esca watched in shock as the tall roman soldier, an officer, no less nuzzled his head into Esca’s shoulder and lent against him in a position of total trust and contentment. Esca was shocked. “Why…?” he mumbled.  
“You seem honest and true enough, and you have been good to me, you could have killed me a thousand times already, but you haven’t. I like you anyhow; I think you and I would have been friends.” Marcus murmured contentedly.  
“I like you too, Marcus, my soldier.”  
Marcus wished all of a sudden to be with Esca forever, his member grew treacherously hard, as he tried to disguise it from Esca he brushed against Esca’s own hard member, Marcus looked up in shock. Esca’s eyes were alight with adoration and love and lust. Marcus felt Esca’s hand grip his member, gently stroking it. “No” Marcus cried.  
“What?” Esca cried in confusion.  
“This is a dishonourable act among my people.”  
“Not among mine, I will show you it is good, a bond between those who trust each other.” Esca explained as though to a child.  
“I’m sorry, Esca… I just… I can’t… It is not the act of a friend to a friend, among equals as we are.”  
“Equals?” Esca said inquisitively, “I thought you Romans are the superior race”  
“I’m afraid any who believe that are fools, did not Boudicca, Hannibal, Brennus, Pyrrhus, Arminius and Decebalus defeat us and teach us the price of arrogance”  
“I am glad you are not a fool” Esca said with a mischievous grin.  
Esca gently rubbed his foot against Marcus uninjured thigh, he felt Marcus growing hardness under his foot at he rubbed the larger man’s groin. Marcus’ eyes fogged over with lust, he tried to shift forward to Esca but the motion drained the last of his strength and he slumped forward, submerging under the pools clear water. Esca leapt through the water and strained to pull the prone form of Marcus from the pools depths, he heaved Marcus onto the dry bare rock of the pool’s sides, he then tugged on the unconscious man’s tunic, knowing how the romans prized their modesty and honour above almost all else and carried Marcus towards the cave where Esca lived.  
The cave was homely for a cave, furnished with elegant Celtic rugs and firs and equip with a small bed and mat and with a small hearth in the corner. Marcus armour and weapons were neatly laid out in one corner.  
…   
It was several hours later, night once more when Marcus awoke to the smell of stew wafting from a pot above the hearth. Esca turned; offering Marcus a wide grin then brought him a steaming bowl of stew. Marcus accepted the bowl and greedily slurped down its contents, drinking the rich meaty juices. After finishing his stew at breakneck speed Marcus gave Esca a wide grin of thanks and wiped his face with his arm. Esca had already eaten and walked across taking the bowl away before sitting on Marcus’ knee and leaning into his arms. Esca planted his lips, softly against Marcus’ face, he gently opened his mouth to nibble playfully at Marcus lower lip. Marcus tensed at first then opened his mouth with a groan, allowing his Esca to explore his mouth with his small pointed tongue. Marcus poked his own tongue into Esca’s tight mouth, tasting the honey sweetness of the smaller man. Marcus hands strayed to Esca’s waist where he proceeded to gently rub the small druids arse, groping and squeezing in a fashion that aroused Esca. Esca then pulled of Marcus’ shirt, breaking the kiss to lift the heavy garment over his head. He then removed his own braccae and stood before Marcus completely naked, allowing the Roman to admire his slender curves. “Please Marcus, do it, please… fuck me!”  
Marcus removed his braccae hurriedly.  
“If that is your wish” Marcus exclaims cheerfully.  
Making Esca shift to lay on his back his legs wrapped around Marcus hips, taking care not to aggravate Marcus’ wound. Marcus sucks his fingers then gently rubs the saliva slickened thick fingers against Esca’s incredibly tight anus. With care he pressed one index finger against the puckered hole, with a pop it slid in making Esca sigh and groan in relief. Generating a pumping rhythm Marcus added another finger, stretching Esca’s hole wider, making Esca shudder. Finally convinced that he has suitably loosened Esca’s arse Marcus pressed his still saliva slick cock against Esca’s still tight anus. Pushing forwards he suddenly slid deeply into Esca. Esca felt Marcus penetrate him, felt his arse fill, tight passage almost ripped apart by Marcus massive manhood. He cried out in pain at the raw burning in his arse. Marcus hesitated as he realised the pain his partner was in, unsure how to proceed he looked into Esca’s eyes and saw a hunger that told him to continue. Marcus thrust further into Esca until his cock reached something impenetrable, a burst of pain and pleasure overtook Esca and he cried out to Marcus begging for more, harder faster rougher as Marcus’ cock stretched him. Marcus complied, withdrawing out of Esca in his entirety then slamming back in. in out in out in out. Harder, harder, harder. Faster, faster, faster. His cock pounded Esca’s tinny frame. Esca hung limply too his thighs as Marcus plundered his tight hole. As Esca reached climax with a little help from Marcus massive hands stroking his proportionately smaller cock Esca cried out in ecstasy. Then with a great shudder Marcus came also, filling Esca once again with his seed, claiming the limp form of his friend, comrade, lover and equal as his own as much as he belonged now to the boy before him who dozed lazily on the edge of sleep.   
…  
Marcus awoke many hours later to find Esca still lying slumped across his chest. Marcus lay still breathing shallowly as he watched his young love’s chest gently rise and fall. Then outside Marcus heard a noise. Voices in British. Esca rose with a start rushing off Marcus who quickly thrust on his tunic from where it lay discarded. Esca franticly pulled his braccae on and prepared to face the visitor. A tall man dressed in British finery with a full beard and clothes adorned with much gold Celtic jewellery. He barked a harsh question at Esca, anger breaking his face into a grim expression. Esca stood before Marcus, protecting him, he stood indignantly and cried out that as a druid he was free to do as he wished free from the constraints of tribal law. The older man glowered at Marcus then receded fearfully from the cave as though fearful of the powers held in the tiny man before him. Marcus was confused by this. When the man was gone Marcus asked why the man was intimidated by Esca. Esca laughed, “Because I am the chosen one of the water spirits of course, I have their magic.”   
Marcus was confused, he didn’t believe in magic.  
“Come” Esca cried, “I’ll show you”.  
Marcus lent on Esca’s shoulders and limped along as Esca led him to the pool where they had bathed. “Here” Esca said and with a flourish of his hands and some chanting in some foreign tongue he thrust his hands forward.   
The water appeared from almost nowhere, a jet of warm water spraying across Marcus’ chest from seemingly Esca’s hands. Marcus almost collapsed in shock.  
Esca proceeded to show him some of his tricks.  
He made water dance from the pool like water sprites, made thunder clouds loom then disappear, then made the water in the pool flow in a whirlpool.  
It was hours later when Marcus hobbled back to the cave with Esca at his side.  
They spent the night huddled on the bed.  
…  
That morning they awoke with a start once again to intruders to their private abode. With forewarning due to the tinkle of armour coming from the intruders the two men quickly dressed, Esca lent Marcus on his shoulder and they hobbled out together to meet the intruder. The Intruders turned out to be a search party of Roman Auxiliaries of the Dacian Cavalry Marcus had saved. They looked at their injured commander like he was a ghost, The Decurion Marcus had ordered save the standard started forward, Marcus bade him come no closer, he was injured, beyond repair in the army’s eyes, he would rather be dead in its eyes than face discharge, he had found a new life in Britain. The man’s face flashed with understanding, with a curious glance at Esca who was clearly a druid by his robes that draped to his shins, the Decurion marched his men away mounting their horses they rode away, into the forests depths leaving the two men, a Briton and a roman in peace to enjoy their time together, revelling in a mutual trust.


End file.
